


Make Believe

by SecondDerivative



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23394934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondDerivative/pseuds/SecondDerivative
Summary: Dimitri sees a new side of Felix. Things get complicated.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Original Female Character(s), Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73





	1. Revelation

It is a crisp, cool, summer afternoon in Fhirdiad. Below, through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, Dimitri can see staff and guests alike going about their day, and some are even gathering on the grass and under trees, rolling out picnic blankets and enjoying the weather.

He is on the way to visit Eustace, and his heart leaps with joy just at the thought of it. She is just shy of seven moons old, but is already quite emotive and good-natured, even if she throws a fit here and there. Her eyes are blue and her hair is blond, just like Dimitri’s, but Katarina’s intelligence sparkles in her eyes. Fuss as Gilbert may, prodding and rambling about her potential as a combatant, she is far too young for any kind of training. Still, Dimitri is excited for her future. He is a proud father.

He is at her door now. At this time of day, her caretaker has probably already put her to sleep, but if not, it would not hurt to play with her a little. He is holding a plush teddy bear in his right hand for this possibility. Slowly and carefully, he opens the door, eye peeking around the corner, only to be met with-

In the center of the darkened room is a figure, back turned to him: Felix. Dimitri would recognize his silhouette anywhere. He is by Eustace’s cot, in those boots that accentuate the shape of his calves, wearing the simple but elegant, dark-colored tunic that he had on for the morning meeting. In his arms is none other than Eustace herself, babbling happily and pulling at his fringe. He cranes his head over her, rocking her in a slow, steady motion. Felix, usually so caustic, decisive, cutting, is decidedly... not. He murmurs something into Eustace’s hair.

Dimitri’s heart skips a beat.

The light from the door hits the opposing wall, and the gears of time resume. Felix whips his head around. His ponytail brushes the top of Eustace’s head, and she giggles. Meanwhile, his facial expression transitions from confusion, to shock, and finally to a veneer of annoyance, but Dimitri knows Felix well enough to see that there is still some element of panic in the set of his jaw. His hold on Eustace does not change though. He lowers the baby into her cot, and she clings stubbornly to him like a frog on the wall. Dimitri opens his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by an amber glare.

“Wait outside,” Felix mouths.

“What –”

“ _Go!_ ” Felix mouths again, tilting his head towards the baby, making his point. His attention returns to Eustace before Dimitri can say another word. Bewildered and resigned to the absurdity of the situation, Dimitri steps out, closing the door behind him.

He leaves the stuffed bear inside the room, though; no sense in bringing it back out with him. He waits.

A few minutes later, Felix emerges from the room looking a touch disheveled, but no less striking than usual. He raises his chin, eyes meeting Dimitri’s for a second before darting to the side. His cheeks are dusted red, Dimitri realizes. He can feel heat rising to his own face, even though he isn’t the one caught in the act.

Felix speaks angrily, but still in hushed tones, “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking _you_ that,” Dimitri says, affronted, “She is _my_ daughter.”

“I know that, you brute. I - you,” Felix is now staring holes into Dimitri’s boots. He exhales through his nose and tries again. “Don’t you have an appointment right now?”

Dimitri crosses his arms. “It was postponed, the Count will not be arriving until tomorrow evening. But that doesn’t answer my question, Felix. What were you doing in Eustace’s room?” He is not angry, just curious.

“It was… nothing,” Felix said, “Josephine had her hands full bringing food to the guests from the kitchen and what have you, and Eustace was crying. I just happened to be there, so I helped. That’s all.”

“I see –”

“So,” Felix steps around him. His stride suggests confidence, but he is unable to hide the pink staining his cheeks. “I have some matters to attend to, as do you.”

“Just wait a moment here.”

“Good-bye.”

And he is gone, but Dimitri’s heart continues to race. Strange, since the initial shock should have long worn off.

No matter.

With Felix gone, he can finally check on his daughter. She is adorable with her little fists curled next to her head as she sleeps. He kisses her on the forehead and watches her a while before returning to his duties. He wonders what kinds of dreams Eustace has. With her last waking memories being wrapped in Felix’s arms, surely pleasant ones.

Later that day, he dines with his wife. When Katarina asks him if he visited Eustace that day, he nods, smiling as he recalls their daughter’s sleeping face; however, he decides not to mention Felix. He cares for both Katarina and Felix deeply. They are both highly intelligent, strong, and wise beyond their years, and yet, as much as he may wish it, they do not seem to get along.

\----

It’s been a few days already, but Dimitri’s mind continues to travel back to the moment, unbidden. He sees Felix standing tall, proud, and protective, a lone figure in the unlit room. His mind lingers on how gentle and serene he seemed while holding Eustace, and the way Eustace responded to him. She is familiar with him, he notes.

The sight made Dimitri feel… soft. Unspeakably so. There was a wholesome gentleness in Felix’s body that Dimitri had not seen in years- so long ago, in fact, he thought that emotion was dead within him. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit it but, he is intrigued, even relieved. It stirs something in his chest.

He cannot quite understand why he continues to ponder it so.

Perhaps it was because he felt such actions were… uncharacteristic of him? Sweet, even. He normally imagines his Duke as stern – gaze sharp, hair sleek, figure lithe, slender, breathtaking, yet deadly. A man often seen with his arms crossed and a quip ready at the tip of his tongue like the crack of a whip.

But then again, Dimitri muses, Felix was incredibly sweet and honest as a child. Even now, despite his prickliness, he is still thoughtful and devastatingly honest in his own way. Perhaps some things have stayed the same, after all.

Hm.

He doesn’t know what was to gain from this, but he wants to see Felix with Eustace again, just one more time.

\----

Dimitri tries for a while, but between both of their extremely tight schedules, it is hard to catch Felix alone, or rather, with Eustace. Eventually, Dimitri has no choice but to put the incident behind him so he can focus.

Just when he resolves to forget about it, he has a breakthrough.

He is due for a lunch break, but Dimitri decides checking up on his Eustace would do him more good instead. After asking around for her and Josephine’s whereabouts (logically, she would be with her caretaker at this time), he finds himself in one of the smaller palace gardens. It is an open-air space enclosed by four hallways connecting different parts of the castle, forming a neat square. The sky is clear, and the roses are all in full bloom, giving off a subtle fragrance in the warm air. Dimitri makes his way through the shadow at a quick pace, but he stops dead before reaching the light of the clearing.

Under the ivy-covered canopy are Felix and Eustace, and as luck would have it, they have not noticed him yet. Scrambling, Dimitri presses himself against the nearest pillar. He feels silly for a moment: imagine if someone saw him, the king of the united Fódlan, hiding like a miscreant on his own grounds!

He chastises himself for spying, but internally, he understands that if he reveals himself now, the moment will break like a stack of cards falling to the floor. And he has to know – he wants to see that rare side of Felix again, the one Felix keeps under lock and key.

He waits in silence, holding his breath. There is nothing but the whisper of the breeze and the buzz of insects. Eustace sits upright, content in Felix’s secure embrace, and Felix peers down at her through his lashes and gifts her with a rare, open, sunny smile. A pang goes through his heart. Dimitri’s can feel his face warm- it seems beyond his control.

They seem to be conversing, which is ridiculous, since Eustace can’t talk. Her tiny hands pat the sides of his face and lips as she babbles and coos.

“Bwuh.”

“Is that so?”

“Da da da. Da da da.”

“I see. You intend to drive the intruders from our borders.”

“Da daaaaa?”

He laughs, “You take me for a fool.” He smooths back her soft tufts of light blond hair. “There’s still a great deal you do not know. It would be imprudent to overestimate your abilities.”

Felix always responds in a low, even voice, his tone soft, comforting, like a blanket, and yet simultaneously silky smooth like dark chocolate. Dimitri has the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on the inside of his gloves, but he dares not move. Dimitri’s knees could buckle under him if he is not careful.

Felix, however, continues to murmur to the child, unaware of his audience. He’s stroking Eustace’s hair again and she relaxes against his chest. “I will protect you until you grow strong enough to protect yourself.” A pause. He is pacing now. “And long after, though I hope that the peace my generation has bought will mean you will never truly have to face the trials of warfare. But alas, perhaps that is wishful thinking.”

She touches the side of his face: _Pap pap_.

“Mhm.”

_Pap_.

“You have my word.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Felix shifts Eustace in his arms so that she is turned more towards him, looking unbearably fond. “Did you know,” he says, amber eyes sparkling in light sifting through overhead, “that you look like your father?”

_He’s talking about... Dimitri?_

“You’ll grow to be a fine ruler someday.”

A chortle from Eustace. He pokes her cheek. “Yes, just like your father. A gift to Fódlan.”

Too soon do Felix and Eustace leave the garden, most likely to return her to Josephine. It makes sense, of course, because Felix, too, is a busy man. It is only then that Dimitri finally vacates his spot behind the pillar. His heart aches. He does not think it’s purely from surprise this time.

\----

“Boar.”

Felix is straightening the papers in front of him as the other attendants file out between meetings.

Dimitri starts, “Pardon?”

“You’re staring. Again.”

_Has he been staring?_ “Apologies, I didn’t mean to.”

“Is there something on my face?”

From the day behind the pillar, Dimitri has felt… light and skittish in a way he can’t quite put his finger on. He always does his best to focus on council meetings, but since then, as soon as Felix enters the room and takes his seat to the right of him, his concentration ultimately worsens.

“Dimitri.”

Oh, Felix asked him a question. “You look lovely,” Dimitri answers.

“Excuse me?” Felix’s tone is incredulous, but there’s some pink creeping up his neck and peaking out from under his high collar.

“Ah, no,” Dimitri is stupid. Felix has always been handsome, ever since they were younger. He doesn't understand why he should be so affected _now_ , “I didn’t mean to – well, I just have something on my mind.”

Felix’s brows furrow at that, “Are you … well?”

Ah, he must mean his ghosts. No, the last thing he wants is to worry his friend like this. “Oh, no, I’m perfectly fine, Felix. It’s…” _composure, Dimitri_ , “nothing important.”

He remembers the scene in the garden. He looks away.

Felix fixes him with a hard stare, and Dimitri braces himself for a cutting remark, but it doesn’t come. “Alright. If it’s not important, don’t let it distract you. We have one more of these goddess-forsaken trade meetings today. An important one, at that.”

“Of course.”

The chamber doors open, again, and the two of them turn in their seats. Katarina strides in, wearing an emerald dress that matches her eyes, with her crown glinting proudly on her forehead. Dimitri doesn’t miss the way Felix tenses in his chair. “I see that no one else is here yet.”

“The members of the previous meeting have just vacated,” Dimitri says. He pulls out the chair to his left. “Please.”

Katarina beams at him and takes a seat. She then rolls out a map of the shared border between the former Empire and the Kingdom. As a former diplomat to this region, her expertise would be indispensable in this discussion. Even Felix, as knowledgeable as he was, had to admit that he was not as informed about the minutiae of the Empire as she. Dimitri’s gaze shifts to his right again. Felix stares straight ahead, face carefully blank, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

“Duke Fraldarius.”

Something like annoyance crosses Felix’s face. He turns stiffly, just the bare minimum to face Katarina. Tilts his head forward in lieu of a bow. “Your Majesty.”

“I see that you have yet to address me,” her voice is clipped and measured in a way that Dimitri rarely hears.

Dimitri notices that he is clenching his jaw again. “Forgive me,” Felix manages to say, “I have a lot on my mind. It is an honor that you have spared the time to grace us with your presence at the summit today.”

“Felix,” Dimitri warns. This is uncalled for.

“Hmpf.”

“Let him be,” Katarina sighs. “I have finished with the rudimentary preparations. I would like to show you a few things before our guests arrive.”

“Lead the way.”

As efficiently and clearly as she can, Katarina reviews with him the basic needs and resources of key territories and the relevant expectations and trading customs of each. Dimitri tries to listen attentively, confirms ambiguous points, and follows along. But the day’s efforts are catching up to him, and he finds his eye sliding between the map at hand and Felix to the other side of him, shoulders rigid and posture defiant. He cannot tell if he is listening to Katarina’s words or not. The hand not propping his chin up is in a tight fist, and his foot is tapping against the stone floor. His eyelashes almost interlace, as his eyes are narrowed, as if in deep thought.

“Love.”

Dimitri snaps back to the present. “Apologies.” He feels sheepish. “Could you repeat your last point?”

She fixes him with a look. “Right. But pay attention.” She is about to resume, but at this moment Felix pushes his chair back, making a scraping sound against the floor. With a flick of his cape, he exits without a word.

“Felix!” Dimitri jumps out of his seat and runs after him, before Katarina can say anything else.

\----

Felix hasn’t made it far past the door when Dimitri catches his arm. “Where are you going?” Felix turns on his heel, and Dimitri skids to an abrupt halt.

“I just needed some fresh air, alright? Now fuck off.” He tries to pull himself free.

“Felix!” It’s like being in the academy again. Dimitri swallows down the frustration and bad memories that come with that thought. “If you don’t want to be there, it’s fine. Katarina and I can handle it.”

Felix’s face actually darkens at that. “This is an important deal for the Kingdom. I am duty-bound not to miss it.”

“Then you will handle yourself civilly,” Dimitri says, “And you will treat Katarina with respect.”

Felix’s face contorts, distaste written clearly across his face. “I will try.”

“Try?” The tension evaporates from his body. Dimitri is suddenly very tired. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling, “Why on earth can’t you and Katarina just get along? You are both such wonderful people. I cannot fathom it.”

Felix shakes his head, head turned to the side. He places a hand on his forehead and closes his eyes. “You are a fool.”

“I know you think that.”

“That’s not,” Felix’s eyes snap open once again. He fights his face back to neutrality, and Dimitri cannot mistake the softening in his expression. “Let’s go back. The meeting is bound to start, soon.”

“Alright.”

Felix leads the way back down the hall. Before he opens the door again, he says, to Dimitri’s surprise, “I’m sorry. I will put in a greater effort. I do not want to hinder your efforts.”

“That’s all I can really ask for.”

\----

Felix’s office is situated in one of the older parts of the castle, so the path there involves many pillars, twists, and turns. Dimitri navigates the route without thinking, as he has come down here countless times.

He’s half the walk down, when the sounds of voices, angry and caustic, overpower the volume of his footsteps. Dimitri increases his pace, almost running now.

He hears scuffling. A muffled exclamation.

He rounds the corner. “ _What_ , in the Goddess’ name?”

At the end of the hall, outside of Felix’s study, are his advisor himself and Katarina standing opposite of each other. Felix’s face is white with rage, expression more intense than Dimitri can recall in recent memory. Katarina leans forward as well, lips pulled back over her teeth, standing an inch of two taller than Felix, equally fierce. He thinks this is the most hostile he’s ever seen her. The air is charged, quite literally charged, and Dimitri sees purple sparks on Felix’s fingertips, and can feel the air swirling, and sees how the ends of Katarina’s hair move. There are no open windows.

“Cease this at once!”

They finally notice him and both turn to face him simultaneously, malice still plain on their faces. In a split second, Felix storms off, leaving loud but quickly fading footsteps in his wake. Dimitri lunges forward, trying to catch him, but Katarina grabs his wrist, “Leave him.”

“No.”

“ _Please_.”

He acquiesces. He is still exasperated, however, “Katarina, what in the meaning of this?”

“I- ” Katarina’s rage seems to seep out of her, fear replaces it. He immediately feels guilt- he does not want her to feel afraid. He wills his body to relax.

Katarina doesn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t agree with his conduct, as of late. Not that he agrees.”

Dimitri exhales heavily. His voice is still taut. “Is this something I can help with? I’ve known him for a long time, surely–”

She cuts him off, leaving no room for argument. “This is between him and me.”

“Between him and you…” Dimitri repeats.

“Look,” Katarina throws up her hands. “There’s a reason why... why we don’t partake in the same meetings often. He is just so hostile, and I…” She shakes her head. “There is nothing new about this. He’s held a grudge against me, always has. I know you hold him in high regard, but.”

Something in Dimitri’s expression makes her stop, “Let’s drop it. I will make amends later. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Dimitri had come to ask Felix something, but he supposes this is fine, too. Wordlessly, he leaves with his wife.

\----

A few days later, Dimitri notices a package on Felix’s desk. He holds it up.

“What’s this?”

“A letter opener.”

“I see.” He slips it out of the packaging. It’s silver with pearls encrusted in the handle. “It’s a beautiful object. Did you buy this?” It seems a bit too decorative for his tastes.

“No, I.” Felix actually winces. “It’s from Her Majesty.”

“That is…” _unusual_ , he wants to say.

Felix waves it off, returns to the documents at hand, “Honestly, I have no use for it. Actually, why don’t you keep it? Surely you would get a lot more out of it.”

“But, you don’t have a letter opener, do you?”

“My hunting knife will work just fine. Always has.”

Dimitri wants to protest, but Felix’s trembling fingers stop him from pushing further.

The next time Dimitri reviews the mail, he uses the knife. If Katarina notices, she doesn’t comment.

\----

_“Imperial Year 1191, 30th of the Horsebow Moon._

_A report: Duke Fraldarius beheaded the leader of the rebellion and his closest tacticians in a single blow, undoubtedly an amazing feat. However, the maneuver left him open to the blades of guards standing by. His wounds are critical, possibly fatal: A blade through the abdomen among countless minor lacerations. Annette of Dominic was there to perform emergency treatment, but presently, Duke Fraldarius is being delivered to Fhirdiad for intensive care as soon as possible. His condition is unstable, and it is uncertain if he will survive –”_

As soon as Felix’s arrival to the capital reaches his ears, Dimitri drops his quill and storms to the infirmary. He’s running, fast, and nearly barrels into a several members of his staff on the way there, but he can barely find it in him to apologize, even if that is unbefitting of a king. 

_Felix._

He reaches the infirmary, and there are nurses stationed outside the door. They tell him that Felix has actually already been here for a few hours, and they think he will be alright, but he should rest– _“_

_He may recover yet. He is strong-willed.”_

Dimitri hears that, but little else. He slows down. Panting, he pushes open the last set of double doors.

Felix is in bed. His hair undone, and he is wearing a light robe, as is customary for infirmary patients. It is open enough to show that his upper body and arms are wrapped in bandages. His face is pale, distinctly unwell, and he is connected to several magical contraptions that are pushing light-colored potions through tubes inserted at multiple points. There’s a generic pot of flowers on the bedside table, a pitcher, some medication, and a dusty old mirror.

He stirs when Dimitri enters the room. “I thought I said- ” Then he sees Dimitri. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Felix.”

“Don’t you have better things to do right now?”

“How can you say that? When the report came,” Dimitri is still catching his breath, panic and worry and relief all boiling inside of him, “How could you… how are your wounds?”

“Hah. I’ll be,” Felix pauses, “fine. You heard them. I was stopped at multiple cities along the way before getting here, so I’ve effectively been in recovery for a few days now.”

“I see,” Dimitri is wringing his hands, looking up towards the ceiling. This is good news. “Thank Sothis.”

Felix snorts. “Happy now?”

“Of course not!” Dimitri snaps, “I am still appalled at your recklessness.”

“Relax, you fool. Besides.” He gestures at the bandages on his limbs and generally immobile state, “It’s not like I could go anywhere right now even if I tried. Be at ease.”

There is silence, and Dimitri continues to stand at the threshold. There is so much he wants to say, but he has no words with which to express them. He just feels too damned much.

Felix sighs. “This shitty pain medication is really messing with my head, but they should decrease the dosage in a day or two, then I will be able to review reports again.”

“Don’t push yourself. “

“I’m _fine_. I am literally just lying here, idle. A report or two won’t kill me.”

“That’s not funny.”

Even sedated, Felix has the gall to roll his eyes. “It’s a figure of speech.”

Dimitri says, more firmly this time, “You need to rest, _please_. I implore you.”

Felix musters up a glare, but it lacks its usual edge. Finally, he sinks back into the pillows, “This is ridiculous.”

“Taking your recovery seriously, Felix, is not ‘ridiculous.’”

“No, not that. I- ” He pauses. There's a trace of anguish in this voice, “What is the point of me being here?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was not strong enough to fight, and now I can’t even help you run the kingdom, or my own territory, or even reduce your damn workload. And– ” Felix starts to cough again, and he curses.

“Is talking hurting you?” Dimitri takes a step back, “I apologize for making you speak so much- ”

“No!” Felix says abruptly, pauses, and then, “Just… why don’t you come closer? Speaking at this volume is- ” He coughs again, wipes something on his sleeve, gestures at himself. “You get the idea.”

Dimitri hesitates, “Well…”

“Get on with it.”

“I feel that you’ve been, avoiding me as of late.”

“I was away. _On a mission._ ”

“I know that. I’m talking about before. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t. Shut up.”

That stings and Felix seems to sense that. He relaxes minutely, gives in, “Come here.”

Dimitri doesn’t hesitate. He walks over and kneels by the bedside. This is the closest he’s been to Felix in weeks, and he’s almost surprised by the feeling of relief washing over him. He takes one of Felix’s hands in his and lets out a shuddering breath, “You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you almost did, if it weren’t for Annette, I- ” Dimitri calms himself, and tries again. “I heard about what happened on the battlefield, about your little stunt.”

“If I hadn’t done what I did, the leader and his lackeys would have gotten away. It could have been months of pursuit if we had to catch them again.”

“It doesn’t matter!” his voice rings out. He is shocked by how much he had raised his voice, and evidently, Felix is, too. He goes back to a whisper. “Your life is far more important than a group of vagrants. If you had died, I.” Dimitri shuts his eyes. “I would never forgive myself.”

Felix is staring at him, “For what? Letting me go on the mission?”

“Yes.”

He squints. “I fucking volunteered.”

“I understand, but.” Dimitri falters. Inhales deeply. He takes a moment to compose himself.

Felix’s lips pressed are into a thin line. “Boar, you are crushing my hand.”

“I’m sorry.” Dimitri hastily puts it down. He lays his forehead down on the cool covers. He sees himself reflected in the bedside mirror. He looks haggard. He closes his eye. “Just, please, stay alive.”

Silence. Dimitri lets the quiet sounds of bubbling of potions bleed into his consciousness. He takes comfort in Felix’s even breathing, and his scent clings to the sheets. His friend is blissfully alive.

“Okay. I’ll… get stronger. For next time.”

Dimitri exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You can’t tell me to take care of myself if you are to treat yourself with such negligence.”

“I can look after myself just fine, thanks.” Bold of him, considering his current circumstances.

More silence, but it’s comfortable. Dimitri continues to kneel by the bed, arms squared around his head. He hears Felix shift in his sheets, pause, then tentatively, tentatively, stroke the tips of his hair. “Go ahead,” Dimitri chuckles.

So Felix resumes with a new confidence, (“soft,” he mutters) cards his finger through his hair in an even rhythm. Soothing. His knees are getting a little numb, though. So Dimitri moves under Felix’s hand, opens his eye at last, and–

Through the reflection of the mirror, he can see that despite everything, Felix is smiling. Tenderly, as he does only when he thinks Dimitri isn’t looking. Kindly, as he does when he's tending to Eustace, except.

Goddess, that smile is directed at _him_. Meant for _him_.

His breath catches in his throat, and Felix’s hand stills. Dimitri can see his face fall, and he watches him school it back into a semblance of indifference. It twists Dimitri’s insides. “You should go,” he mutters.

“But.” Dimitri finally lifts his head from the bed.

“Carry on, now.”

“… right as ever, Felix.” There are so many things that require his attention. Reluctantly, he makes his way to the door. “Get well soon.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” There’s a hint of a smirk in his voice.

“Recover swiftly.”

“Goddess, just _go_.” His voice is tinged with annoyance, but the subtle upturn of his lips tells another story.

\----

Things change in little ways.

Dimitri is convinced that Felix is continuing to avoid him, as he disappears right after his presence is necessary, whereas in the past he would stay back, and they would talk. But there are small moments, Dimitri thinks, where he catches when Felix doesn’t think he’s looking. The warmth in Felix’s gaze as he watches Dimitri turn away from him, forever moving onto the next thing. The small moments where Felix reaches towards him from next to him at the table, but then draws back.

One day during one of these moments, on a whim, Dimitri takes his hand. Felix’s eyes narrow, but not with anger or irritation- instead he blushes, all the way down to his shoulders. It is nothing short of adorable, Dimitri realizes. He admires Felix in all his proud strength and glory, his pride and cool aloofness. But this part of Felix, that holds his hand, gets embarrassed, and smiles– this side, he could get used to, too.

It occurs to Dimitri one night that Felix might have feelings for him.

Could he? Beautiful, strong, capable Felix?

Dimitri shakes his head and rests his face in his palms. Impossible. Felix, who has all the choices in the world for a spouse, has seen him at his worst, understands him the best and therefore knows all his flaws. And he is so deeply broken, too imperfect. Felix is like the sun and Dimitri the moon, incapable of ever shedding a fraction of his light. Felix could never love him.

This is fine, everything is fine. Felix is his best friend and right-hand advisor. This is the way it was meant to be. Felix is to be to him as Rodrigue was to his father.

Dimitri tells himself this, knows this. Repeats it to himself over and over like a mantra. But sometimes, he remembers Felix’s face in the mirror, like a worn page in his memory.

This feeling, this uncertain, undefined, dangerous _wanting_. It grows and grows and grows and _grows_.

\----

Dimitri is enjoying a glass of wine when Felix enters his study. He cannot taste it, per say, but he enjoys the burn as it goes down his throat. It is his second glass – not nearly enough for him to be intoxicated, but just enough to feel a pleasant buzz. His friend strides on in– he is one of the few who are granted the permission to come and go as they please. Dimitri notes that he has changed out of his day clothes to a billowy white shirt tucked into dark pants that draw attention to the narrowness of his hips. His dress is certainly more relaxed, but no less captivating.

Actually, the way the cut of the shirt reveals the tops of Felix’s collar bones borders on scandalous in Dimitri’s opinion, but who was he to dictate how he dresses? He wouldn’t listen to him, in any case.

Felix seats himself in his preferred green armchair next to Dimitri’s and promptly begins to go through various books and letters. He murmurs to himself (Dimitri knows he is only trying to concentrate, but he finds this enchanting) and occasionally speaks up to get Dimitri’s opinion.

It doesn’t happen as frequently as it used to, but it is comfortable for them to spend weekday evenings like this. Though it is not always entirely relaxing, it is pleasant, quiet, and productive, though lately, as seems to be the trend, Dimitri finds himself unfocused, once again glancing as discreetly as he can at the man beside him.

Felix’s profile is illuminated by the fireplace, basking his skin in a warm glow, and reflecting flecks of orange in the bends of his dark tresses. His hair is tied low, cascading over his shoulder, and his eyes glitter in the firelight. He lets his eye wander, following the slope of his brow, the elegant curve of his nose, before lingering on his lips. This makes him feel suddenly nervous. He flicks his gaze away, only to find himself looking at them again. They look very soft.

“Dimitri.”

_Could Felix love him?_

Dimitri finds himself standing before him, Felix’s book is now open on his lap. Felix is tilting his head back to look at him, showing the pale expanse of his neck. “Are you drunk already?”

He leans down. A hand ghosts Felix’s arm, then goes to the underside of his chin, tilting his head even further upward. Felix’s eyes widen, and Goddess, he can hear, nay, _feel_ , Felix’s breath shorten as Dimitri leans in closer, and their breaths mingle and they exchange the same air. Felix is backed up against the chair, hands gripping the plush armrests, and Dimitri can see the indents in the cushion under his fingers– but he doesn’t push him away.

“No.” He says this. Knows this, and yet there is an unstoppable rush throughout his body, under his skin. His feelings, growing, once unfocused, are finally gathering and urging him to a point–

Dimitri wonders what it would feel like to kiss him. To comb those inky locks between his fingers and hold his waist so that they were pressed close. His fingers twitch. They are so close. Dimitri can count every single one of Felix’s long eyelashes, see how the light diffuses and scatters on the surface of his skin. The tips of his hair brush Felix’s cheeks below him.

He feels Felix draw a sharp breath. His eyes close. “Dimitri– ”

There is a knock on the door of the study.

Felix jerks his head back, hitting Dimitri in the chin. At the same time, Dimitri nearly trips over his own feet when he flinches. He steadies himself on the nearby table with a bang, knocking a paperweight and a several documents to the floor.

“Fuck!” Felix’s hand flies to his forehead. He looks absolutely livid.

It was as if a bucket of ice water was emptied over his head. What was he _thinking_? Dimitri winced and holds his chin. “Come in!”

There is a click of the knob, and Katarina enters. She is wearing a light mantle over a simple gown and her raven hair is down, as Dimitri knows she wears it right before sleep. Her green eyes lock to the center of the commotion, then to the paraphernalia scattered on the table and floor, “Is everything alright here?”

Felix scowls from his seat, removing his hand from his forehead. “Your Majesty,” he says, in a gruff voice.

Katarina gives a terse nod. “Your Grace.” She approaches Dimitri at the table while he haphazardly tries to rearrange a few of the misplaced objects, but that only makes things even more disorganized, oh Goddess. “Everything is fine. We just,” he gestures vaguely at the space between him and Felix. “Had a run in.”

Katarina quirks an eyebrow at that and lifts her thumb up to brush the blooming red spot where Dimitri’s chin had collided with Felix’s head. “We might want to get something for your chin. It looks like it might bruise.”

“Ah, that won’t be necessary. Besides, we were just finishing up.”

“Perfect. It was late, so I thought it was about time that you went to bed, hm?” She wraps herself around his arm, “And I think we should go check up on Eustace as well.”

Dimitri is still reeling from the encounter, with the full weight of his actions setting in. “You make a fair point,” he manages. Goddess, what was he thinking? Why did he do all those things? He has to apologize, to explain to Felix that–

“Well, come on then,” Katarina says, pulling Dimitri towards the exit.

“But, I– ”

“You can deal with it tomorrow. And besides, I saw your pitiful attempt to straighten things just now, and I don’t think you will get anywhere in this state. To bed with you.” Before Dimitri can protest more, she ushers him out of the room. “Goodnight, your Grace.”

She shuts the door.

\----

“Dimitri.”

Dimitri is sitting in the grass. He squints and raises his hand to block the sunlight. Felix is standing above him and his eyes appear mahogany in the half-light. His hand, covered in nicks and scars from over the years, is extended towards him. “Come on.”

There is only a split second of hesitation before Dimitri takes his hand. His grip is strong, sure, right, and he lets Felix hoist him up. “We don’t have all day.” There is no venom in his voice, just a small lilt– teasing.

“Where are we going?” Dimitri asks. He blinks, and Felix is now a few paces in front of him, grass up to his calves. Eustace is crawling in front of him, and he scoops her up. She squeals as he nuzzles her hair.

“To the tree. You know the one.”

He does know, and he follows Felix and Eustace ahead of him. The hum of birds and insects fill the air. There was a large tree in the middle of the castle grounds, tall and strong and with a robust, thick trunk, surely hundreds of years old. Ten men wrapped around it would still not reach around the circumference. He, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid had climbed it often when they were younger. They had played hide and seek in the branches while watching the adults below them, or sometimes they had simply talked and watch the sun set, dreaming of a brighter tomorrow. But that tree, it is gone. Burned down and hacked to pieces when the capital was invaded by the Imperial Army–

He only becomes aware of it when he steps into the speckled light and shadow. The tree is just as large as he remembers: twisted, thick branches, with a crown of deep green leaves extending like a great dome. A true feat of nature. Felix awaits him at the base of it, beckoning him to approach. When Dimitri is a few paces away, Felix puts Eustace down.

“You’re not going to make her climb it, are you?”

“Don’t be stupid, she can’t even walk yet,” he says, but a ghost a grin plays on his lips. “One day she will, though. The tree is bigger now, so she’ll go up higher and further than we ever have.”

“It’s an interesting thought.” Dimitri is beside him, now. They let the sounds of wildlife and whispering grass lull them into a comfortable silence. They’re seated at the base of the tree, letting the wind play with their hair as they watch the butterflies dart in and out of the sun. Dimitri does not know who initiated it, but he finds that their fingers are intertwined, and he savors the feeling of Felix’s hand in his while they watch Eustace crawl over the gnarly roots and marvel at the line of ants crawling their way up the trunk.

Felix leans into Dimitri’s shoulder, more relaxed than Dimitri has ever seen him. He murmurs to him, evenly, calmly. For once, they talk not about matters of the state, but of all the small but impossibly important things in their lives. And Dimitri has all the time in the world. He allows himself to gaze upon his beautiful face under the leaf-filtered light. He takes in his perfect lashes, cute nose, the delicate lines of his eyebrows.

“Felix.”

“Hm?” Felix turns to him. His expression is the one he wears for Eustace, the one he had seen directed at him through the mirror. It is full of love and adoration, and it means the world to him. 

He is acutely aware of Felix’s scent, breathes it in. Felix tilts his head up and Dimitri’s eyes dart once again to his parted lips– a silent invitation.

And Dimitri takes it, leans forward, heart racing. Repositions himself so he can cup Felix’s chin. Felix’s other head moves up as well to caress the side of Dimitri’s face. And Dimitri leans in: closer, closer. His face flushes, and he knows that Felix’s ears are burning red, because no matter how many times they do this, it comes with a wave of giddiness, excitement, as if every time is their first and last.

Their breaths mingle and Dimitri can feel the heat radiating from Felix’s skin. He can almost taste him. Felix’s eyes shutter.

Dimitri captures the other man’s lips with his. Felix makes a content sound, pressing himself into it, pleading for more. They are just as soft as he dreamed, a little chapped, but fit perfectly against his. The sensation sends a tingle down his spine, and his body feels alight with warmth, from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes.

It’s all he ever wanted, and it almost breaks his heart when Felix has to pull away to breathe.

Dimitri looks into Felix’s face, panting lightly, drinking in the sight of his hair, untidy because Dimitri had run his hands through it, lips shining because Dimitri had kissed him.

He wants to do this forever.

“I—"

Dimitri starts awake in bed. He registers the dark hair splayed on his pillow next to him – Katarina.

He needs air.

As carefully as he can, he unwinds Katarina’s arms from around his waist and slides out of bed. She mumbles something in her sleep but does not wake, so Dimitri steps out onto the balcony. The moon, while not full, is large tonight. He takes a deep breath. He needs to process these thoughts.

He can still see it, a concoction of real events and dreams: Felix under him, eyes wide and lips parted. Felix smiling, just for him, in the dappled sunlight under the dear tree. Felix murmuring sweet nonsense into Eustace’s hair, doting on her like a father would, making her coo and laugh and melt Dimitri’s heart. Even just the memory of what had transpired was enough to make his heart beat painfully against his rib cage. He clasps his palms together, suppressing everything. He remembers, too, his straying thoughts of late, the intoxicating desire of wanting to kiss him, hold him close.

Dimitri holds his head in his hands. By the Goddess, he has feelings for Felix, doesn’t he?

Dimitri cannot not stop the immense guilt that comes crashing through him. It’s true. He and Felix have not actually made contact, but, he. He wanted to. Absently, he licks his lips. Still wants to.

But he is a married man, for crying out loud! Katarina… Katarina doesn’t deserve that, to be cast aside for some… affair. Dimitri shudders at the thought: affair is a dirty word. It doesn’t seem to be the right one, considering the history between Felix and him, but that’s what it would be, would it not? She doesn’t – he swallows – she doesn’t deserve to have her trust betrayed like that. He doesn’t want to bring trouble and heartbreak into her life, not when he has already ruined the lives of so, so many. The burden of so many lives –

_Calm down, calm down._

His mind feels like it’s breaking.

_Calm down._

In the back of his mind, he has always known, but he didn’t want to read the signs. He didn’t want to entertain the impossible.

It has been a long time indeed since he has allowed himself to feel this way about Felix. Or more accurately, these feelings have been long suppressed, Dimitri decides, ever since their friendship was all but completely severed at Garreg Mach. He had thought back then that their relationship was simply not salvageable. He had given up, never hoping for more. Even now, after Dimitri’s relationship with Felix has improved, Felix is not one for love: always busy, standoffish, aloof, and doesn't seem to care for Dimitri one way or another.

Except that, maybe he does. He hardly calls him “boar” anymore, and when he does, it is never as an insult. Above all, he had accepted his invitation to become his advisor, when he could have just as easily rejected it and retreated to Fraldarius; he was never one for tradition, after all. And, he is kinder. He had learned to be more patient and to realistically evaluate Dimitri’s strengths and flaws.

He recalls the one time he took Felix’s hand, and remembers how he seemed to glow. All the times he looked at him, only to see Felix smiling back before he forced his face back to an expression of neutrality. And of course, he remembers the time where Felix had held Eustace in the garden, full of unguarded affection. His mind travels somewhere darker. He can still hear how he had said his name in the study tonight, voice shaking, reverent, and see how he had tensed under him, but didn’t resist. How he had looked up at him, as if starstruck.

Perhaps, in another life, if they had made up in those bygone days, things would be different now. Maybe Felix would be the one he woke up next to every morning, and their child would be the one he would be holding, and Dimitri wouldn’t have to hide when he saw them together. 

For the thousandth time, Dimitri asks himself if Felix could love him, but this time he is afraid to venture further. He knows that he is at the brink of a realization, at the point of no return.

He needs to go back; this is pointless.

He wishes he could regret feeling this way about Felix. But… he doesn’t. He loves Katarina, he loves Eustace, but somehow, even after everything, he still loves Felix, always has.

But what does it matter? The lost possibilities are unlimited, and at the end, he will never truly understand Felix’s feelings in this. He has a family who needs him.

“Dimitri?” Katarina’s voice, rough with sleep, drifts from their bedroom and jolts him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing out there?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

_He has to put Felix out of his mind._

“Mmh… come back to bed. I miss you.”

_Best friend. Right-hand man. Childhood companion. Nothing more._

“Coming, love.”

Without so much as glancing back, he shuts the balcony door behind him. 

\----

At the break of dawn, Dimitri wakes to a cold wetness on his face. He sits up and slowly wipes his eyes dry. He reaches for his eyepatch, fastens it, and puts on a decent shirt – there is another day ahead, and he has to prepare for it.


	2. One Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long road to Enbarr, and Katarina is less than pleased to find that she’ll be undertaking the journey with His Grace, Felix Fraldarius: her subordinate, rival, and sworn enemy.
> 
> \---
> 
> Content Warning: There's some violence in this chapter. While I do not think it is particularly graphic, there is one particularly detailed scene. Please proceed with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had several requests to follow up on _Make Believe._ I had not planned on it, but I became invested in my OC for Dimitri’s wife, Katarina, so this second installment was born after all. I call this “the sequel that no one wanted or expected, but got”. Nonetheless, I hope some of you will enjoy it all the same, haha.

If someone were to ask Katarina for her opinion of the Duke, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, she would give a courteous smile and say, “He is a strong fighter who is indispensable to the Kingdom.”

It’s a full truth – in her years of experience, Katarina finds that it’s better to speak well of people and to use lies sparingly, but those words but scrape the surface of what she thinks of the man. He wields a blade as sharp as his tongue and possesses a mind as agile as his body, which is honed by war and relentless training. Objectively-speaking, he might be attractive: his face is symmetrical and his figure is well-proportioned, but he is no Dimitri. 

None of that matters once he opens his mouth, anyway. His forthrightness has its uses in the council chambers, but outside of them, his caustic nature is offensive, unbecoming, and makes him less than unapproachable.

It’s not as if she’s never _tried_ to talk to him – whenever Dimitri talks about the Duke, his eye lights up and he can go on endlessly about why he holds him in such high esteem. In short, His Grace is Dimitri’s best and oldest friend. She had seen him once or twice when she was still a diplomatic envoy for her sister – he’d always be there, evaluating the situation with alert eyes, whispering in His Majesty’s ear, and making cutting remarks from time to time. He had a way of directing discussions, unveiling unheard-of solutions, and making corrupt statespeople shift in their seats. But he had never talked much directly outside of business, least of all to her; His Grace is of few words, but she had held great respect for the King’s right hand. 

She had regarded him well enough that when the time had come, she had actually been _excited_ to reintroduce herself to him formally as the King’s newly-declared fiancé. She had meant to set up a formal meeting, but they wound up crossing paths in a corridor. She will never forget that first personal exchange:

“Greetings, Duke Fraldarius.”

He did not stop for her. His brisk tempo hadn’t slowed for even a second to acknowledge her words.

She stood up from her courtesy. Perhaps she did not say it loud enough. So nearly shouting, she said again. “Greetings, Duke _Felix Fraldarius._ ”

He still didn’t even turn around. 

The _nerve_.

There are lesser people who would be cowed by this show of cold indifference, but Katarina is not one such person. Did he think he was above responding to her? She would _make_ him change his mind.

Letting a fraction of her annoyance slip onto her face, she stormed after him and grabbed his elbow, forcing him to face her. He has always had a presence that fills the room, but up close like this, Katarina realizes that she actually stood an inch or two above him. 

Her fiery expression was met with an icy scowl. He looked at her like there could be nothing more inconvenient than Katarina’s very existence. 

“I’m busy,” he said. With a forceful shake, he freed himself from Katarina’s grip and continued onward, but Katarina refused to leave without an apology.

“You could at least greet an acquaintance!” she seethed. This was an understatement – she was no mere subject, but the future Queen of Fódlan, for Sothis’ sake! Surely this man, given his station and connection to Dimitri, would have known that. 

“Hmph.” The Duke’s eyes shifted away and back down the hall. He wouldn’t even grace her with something as simple as eye contact. “The King is happy to entertain each one of his subjects, no matter how lowly. But I am not him—seek attention elsewhere.”

That was a low blow. Katarina knew better than this, knew better than to lose composure, but she wanted nothing more than to extend a hand of friendship to someone important to her future husband, only to be not just ignored, but shut down in the rudest way possible. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

The Duke fixed her with a stony glare. She does not know what kind of hostility lay behind those eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Dimitri has always had poor taste in women.”

A beat of appalled silence passed like a shockwave. Her eyes widened and she didn’t miss how his lips curled back to bare his teeth. “Go back to Enbarr.”

And just like that, he had left her speechless and shaking with anger in the deserted hallway.

\----

This encounter would color every subsequent interaction she had with the Duke. After one night where her eyes had leaked a few angry tears onto her pillow, Katarina thought that maybe, _maybe_ she could give him one last chance. Perhaps that had been on off-day, and perhaps he really _was_ busy.

Inside, she doubted it – even at one’s worst, there was no excuse for such verbal abuse. But she refused to tell Dimitri, at least not yet – this was something she and His Grace had to figure out on their own. It was a matter of pride.

Her intuition had been correct: things never improved. In fact, sometimes the situation even worsened, and she soon lost her patience with him and returned his subtle or not-so subtle insults one-for-one. She was going to be the _Queen_ , for Sothis’ sake, and she would not take this from her future subordinate lying down. 

Even as she had fought back, however, she had always secretly wondered: _Why her?_ She’d think this while consciously minding not to chew the end of her quill as she watched him act with acceptable cordiality in the presence of other nobles. Back when she was only her sister’s retainer, she did not recall such vitriol from him. Did he just hate her innately? And _why?_

She had been glaring at him from across the table in a long, boring summit when she found her answer. She had been staring daggers at him, but for a rare instance, he wasn’t scowling back. Instead, the usual wrinkle between his eyes was absent, and he was looking very intently at something, or someone. She followed his gaze and arrived at no other than His Highness, Dimitri, himself, who was currently addressing the council. She noticed that his gaze lingered, even after it was someone else’s turn to speak and Dimitri had returned to the very mundane task of taking notes. 

At first she thought she was seeing things, but from that point forward, she paid closer attention to how he responded to her husband. With each discovery, she became more displeased. By now, she and Dimitri were married and in love, and she had been publicly coronated. And Katarina was bitter, and even more bitter when she became certain of the following:

 _The Duke, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, harbors affections for His Majesty, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_. 

The day she arrived at this conclusion, she had immediately stormed the Duke’s office, where he had been poring over a spread of documents. She had opened the door with so much force that the papers had been sent scattering across the floor.

“You don’t have the _right,_ ” she screamed.

Naturally, the Duke had jumped to his feet and told her to get the _hell_ out of his office. But Katarina would not give a single inch. 

“I know how you feel about Dimitri. You had your chance – _stay away from him!_ ”

The Duke had stopped breathing the second the words left her mouth. His motions had instantly lost all aggression and his face was blanched white. A for a few tense moments, the only sound was Katarina trying to catch her breath.

“I do not,” he said. They both knew it was a lie – a futile attempt at resistance.

“I didn’t give you anything to deny,” she spat out.

The Duke sank back into his chair, hand on his forehead. For once he looked – weak, pitiful. This show of weakness made Katarina _sick_. 

“Is _this_ why you’ve been treating me like this? Were you _jealous_ , Duke Fraldarius? Jealous that Dimitri chose _me?_ ” Her voice drips with mocking. Oh does it feel _good_. Good to get back at him for months of awful, degrading treatment, with real leverage in her hands. He can’t even retaliate because he knows that he’s in the wrong. 

The Duke was unresponsive, and Katarina continued to unleash words of assault. And he took it, like a pincushion does needles, and barely interrupted.

Finally he spoke, tone surprisingly even, “I am not proud.”

This angered Katarina for some reason. “Is that all?”

He remained silent once more.

In response, Katerina bent over so that she towered over him. The Duke who said nothing and remained crumpled in his chair. “I mean this sincerely, Fraldarius: _fuck you._ ”

She left his office quickly as she came. She liked to imagine that he had stayed rooted there, unmoving for hours.

\----

He actually apologized for his conduct after the incident, an apology that Katarina is ashamed to say she took less than graciously. But after that they had agreed that the Duke should keep his distance from the King as much as possible. To Fraldarius’ credit, he had actually done a good job with it, though when Eustace was roughly a year old, she had doubts of whether the Duke was keeping to his word.

During that time, she could not help but feel that for the first time in their three years of marriage, Dimitri was returning, albeit in the smallest glances and touches, Fraldarius’s affections. She had been especially alarmed after Dimitri had run out after him before the council meeting. It is not in her husband’s nature to cheat, or even consider infidelity – so this change must have been the Duke’s doing. 

The event had triggered one of their ugliest confrontations to date. Even now, she shudders at the language she had used. So out of control they were that she could see him summoning lightning at his fingertips. She countered by preparing Cutting Gale – that is, until Dimitri found them and stopped what surely would have spiraled into a full-blown fight. 

Now two more years down the road, her and the Duke’s have yet to experience another such episode. Looking back, Katarina thinks that the Duke’s attitude had peaked somewhere between her and Dimitri’s wedding and their first big confrontation. They could occasionally tolerate each other in the same meeting room nowadays, only if the weather is pleasant and Dimitri is not present, but she would never call what they have _good_.

Hence, one could imagine her distress at her newest task for the united Fódlan: she and Duke Fraldarius are to travel to Enbarr to meet the top leadership of the former Empire territories. They are to discuss major legislative reforms and oversee the signing of some new, pivotal laws. It is an important task indeed – but not important enough to justify a weeks’ long absence of the King, thus, the current selection of personnel. 

She sighs for the fifth time in as many minutes, leaning back into her armchair. Her head servant looks at her with concern, but she forces a smile and waves it off. She could make it work, and if the Duke wants to be a pain, she can (verbally) beat him into submission. It won’t be fun, but it’s comforting to know that she has that ability in her arsenal.

\----

Katarina and the Duke’s rocky relationship is not exactly a secret among the staff, though it is kept from the public to maintain a front of political unity. Nonetheless, the staff managed to arrange them into separate carriages through half the way south. They did have to relocate to the same coach, however, upon crossing into former Empire borders: that night, they were due to meet Irene von Visca’s retinue.

How things have changed. Katarina goes proudly by Queen Katarina Helenes Blaiddyd now, but she was born a no-name and adopted into the von Visca household for showing unusual intellect for an urchin. 

With age, it became clear enough why the von Visca family had adopted her: the von Viscas had a singular ambition for their only daughter, Irene, which was that she marry into another noble household, the higher the standing, the better. To assist in that, they wanted a perfect retainer to cater to her every need on the way up. Therefore, wherever Irene went, Katarina followed. Her friends were Katarina’s friends, as long as Katarina was always second in their eyes. To be honest, Katarina did not mind too much, at least she didn’t think she did – her adoptive parents learned to recognize her as her own person, and the staff were always respectful and warm towards her. Irene was good, too, and she had helped her sneak out and give her allowances that their parents forbade. Besides, she now had access to a high quality and rigorous education only granted to nobles: anything her tutors gave her, she would absorb, learn, and memorize. She studied well enough that when she came of age, she was allowed to work as a diplomatic envoy between the Adrestria and Faerghus. 

So of course, when the war was over and nationality ceased to matter, Irene had travelled to Fhirdiad with her most trusted friend and retainer in tow. The visit was multi-purpose: to pay respects to the new King, to gain recognition among the new combined noble class, and to fulfill the ambition that defined Irene’s life. Their first meeting with the King was presumably about trade policy with former Adrestria, and Irene had attended wearing her best silks and Katarina was ready to support her every step of the way. Given Katarina’s present position, it is clear that things did not go to plan.

It has been a long time since she has seen Irene: matters at the capital keep her quite busy. Besides, she had always been under the impression that Irene was bitter about Katarina’s ascension to the crown, but she was quick to offer the royal envoy a place to stop during the long journey south. Katarina finds that she is looking forward to her sister’s visit. 

A curt rap on the carriage door pulls Katarina from her train of thought. It is followed by the coach driver’s voice. “Your Majesty, I have arrived as the escort of His Grace, Duke Fraldarius. Do you grant him permission to enter?”

Katarina sighs. She might as well get this over with. “Enter.”

The door swings open and she squints to adjust to the brightness. She hears the Duke mutter a word of thanks to the coach master, then she sees the toe of a supple leather boot enter the carriage, followed by the dark-haired and pony-tailed head of the King’s advisor. She doesn’t bother to hide her scowl, though, for as much disdain she holds for the man, she cannot help but begrudgingly admire his choice in footwear.

(It had actually been a point of contention between them before. They’re nearly always thigh-highs! She had been fuming – men as a rule don’t have a great sense of fashion, and she had assumed that his choice of clothing was somehow an underhanded seduction tactic. After all, the Duke is known for his pragmatism, and there is no way that those boots serve a practical purpose. Although the Duke has conceded much over the years, interestingly this is the one of the few things he would not budge on.)

They make a split second of eye contact, then the Duke grunts. “Good day, Your Majesty.”

“Good day to you, too, Duke Fraldarius.”

Those are the only words they exchange before the envoy resumes its journey across the former border. Not a single word is uttered between them, with the Duke stubbornly crossing his arms and the Queen looking obstinately out the single window.

She finds that she misses her King and Eustace. Eustace has been talking more now, and spending the nights seeing her makes leaps and bounds in reading and conversation has been a delight. 

The sooner this mission is over, the better.

\----

The sun is setting when they meet up with Irene’s entourage. Katarina had been informed in advance that Irene herself would not be out to meet them, as she is busy conducting business in the manor. Still, when she sees a familiar house banner flutter in the wind against the rosy sky, Katarina is excited all the same.

The two groups meet in the middle of the well-travelled road. Words are exchanged at the head of the group and from that point forward, they travel together to make camp next to a tributary of the Airmid river. It would take half a day of travelling tomorrow to reach Visca proper. 

Katarina is elated when they finally pull to a stop. As soon as she understands the arrangements of the camps from the knight leading the Royal guard, she greets the lead of the Viscan entourage. She’s surprised to see the abundance of new faces among the company – in fact, she only recognizes one or two old hands, though for the better or worse, they were not people she was particularly close to. The knights are numerous, equipped with shining armor and weapons, standing solidly in rank and file. Truly, how the von Visca household has evolved the past half a decade. Katarina’s heart swells with pride at the sight.

In theory, she should be greeting the head of the escort, a Pegasus knight, from the looks of it, with the Duke in tow, but this is her family. Surely, no one would mind if she bent the rules just a bit. She knows Dimitri wouldn’t mind.

The knight stands tall and proud. A sharp pair of eyes look out from under her helmet and dismounts gracefully from her Pegasus despite carrying a sword on her hip in addition to the spear in her hand. An admirable woman indeed. 

She takes off her helmet as she approaches, revealing a head of short-cropped brown hair. Her face is stoic as she greets her Queen. She kneels before Katarina, a knee planted on the ground and head bowed down. “It is an honor to escort you, Your Majesty. I am Melody of House Wendel, and I will be leading the humble entourage of House Visca.”

Katarina gives a short, but approving nod. “Rise, Melody of Wendel. I am certain you will lead us to safety. Tell me, when did you come to be of service to the von Visca household?” 

The knight, Wendel, slowly unfolds to her full height. “It has been but ten moons, Your Majesty. I have come under service by the order of Lady Irene.”

Katarina raises her eyebrows. So this is Irene’s new pick – not bad at all, from the looks of it. She had always wondered who would replace their top knights and servants – Katarina had brought her best and the most trusted with her to Fhirdiad upon her coronation.

“You will prove yourself well,” Katarina says.

“Your Majesty, you are far too kind…”

At this point, the Duke finally catches up, wordlessly joining Katarina at her side. She can’t see his expression behind her, but she imagines it’s full of thinly – if at all – veiled suspicion, which is the expression with which he greets all new people. Off-putting and undiplomatic, as usual.

It is Wendel who greets him first with a small bow. “You must be the Duke Fraldarius.”

“I am,” he says with a sharp nod.

 _Tch. Such lack of manners._ But really, she expects no less.

Wendel, however, wears a slight smile. “A man of few words, as the rumors say.” She dips her head in deference to both of them this time. “It is an honor to serve you as well. Tales of your swordsmanship during the War of Unity live on in the halls of House Visca still. Our squires strive to match your legendary excellence.” 

Before more can be said, Wendel announces, “Allow me to show you through camp.” She turns around, “Please Your Majesty, Your Grace, right this way.”

Half of the party from House Visca had broken off from the main body to begin setting up camp before the royal entourage arrived. Already, tents were being set up, now with the help of the party from Fhirdiad, and Katarina could catch the aroma of roast potatoes and savory meats over a fire. The camp is roughly arranged in a circle, with a large common area in the middle for people and supplies to pass through. Though Dimitri emphasizes equality in his reign, the camp is somewhat split down the middle, with the nobility from both parties having tents set up on one side and those of commoner origins on the other. Progress, as anyone should know, takes time, even if it is frustrating. Katarina is pleased to note, however, that her tent is situated far away from the Duke’s. 

At the end of the tour, Wendel turns to face them once more. “I believe that is everything. However, if you have any further issues or concerns, do not hesitate to find me.”

“Of course,” says Katarina. She expects that the Duke will respond with basically nothing, but for once, he manages to subvert her expectations. 

“Nice blade.”

_Huh?_

Wendel smiles mildly at the remark and looks to where her sword is strapped to her hip. The look is almost fond. “Good eye. As expected from a famous swordsman.”

Fraldarius pushes past the flattery. “One must know his weapon. May I see it?”

“Gladly,” Wendel replies. With great care, she unsheathes the weapon. It’s a fine thing, and so polished that the remaining sunlight is reflected off the blade and makes a stripe on the ground. She hands it to him by the handle, and he takes it with uncharacteristic care.

The act of holding a weapon seems to change the air about him. He gives the sword a few test swings, dexterous and dangerously precise. With an approving nod, he returns the sword to its owner. “It’s smooth. Heavier than it looks, but not unwieldy. It’s a fine weapon.”

Wendel sheathes the sword. “As expected, you wield it well, Your Grace.”

“I presume it is the work of the up-and-coming swordsmith in Nuvelle.”

“That would be correct. Your knowledge is truly splendid.”

Fraldarius frowns. Katarina knows that he does not like talking with such pleasantries, but continues speaking, anyway. “I see that your company is quite well-armed for peacetime.”

At this, Wendel bows low. “As we have accepted the responsibility of guarding the royal escort safely to Visca territory, we felt that we could not spare a single expense on Her Majesty’s security.”

The Duke’s face remains impassive. “I see. Of course, you are aware of our proximity to Varley in the case of emergency.”

Katarina side-eyes the Duke. Why mention Varley? The former Empire is hardly his expertise. 

Wendel remains standing with her body parallel to the ground. “Naturally, Your Grace. Varley has been nothing but friendly to our House.”

“Very well. You may rise.”

Wendel does just that. She turns now to Katarina. “Would you be needing anything from me, Your Majesty? Test my sword, perhaps?”

Katarina simply shakes her head. She cares little for swordplay. “No, that will be sufficient. You may be dismissed.” 

Wendel acknowledges her statement and bows a final time. “Then if you’ll excuse me. I bid you both a good evening.”

When Wendel leaves the scene, Katarina makes a move to do the same, but she’s stopped by the Duke grabbing her wrist.

Her eyes narrow. “What? Are you going to prattle about weaponry to me, too?”

Her remark goes ignored. The Duke’s attention seems focused elsewhere, and when Katarina concedes to follow his line of sight, she sees Wendel’s retreating back. “Your questioning earlier. Explain.” Her voice is hard – she will not tolerate unnecessary callousness towards members of her own house.

At last, the Duke looks her in the eye. “I have a bad feeling. Keep your guard up.”

“Heh, is the kind of advice you give your masters? If so, it’s poor and horribly vague.”

The Duke scowls but does not take the bait. He lets go of her wrist.

“Sleep with a knife under your pillow.” With that, he turns on his heel and retreats to a different part of camp. Knowing him, the makeshift armory. 

Though he can’t see it, she glowers at him. “I always do.” Then with a huff, Katarina turns to leave as well – if at all possible, Katarina would like to avoid contact with the Duke for the rest of the evening.

\----

The night is uneventful, and Katarina retires after reading a note Eustace had penned her before her departure. The term “note” is generous, and she knows her tutor had helped her with most of it, but it is precious all the same. After noting what official business she must take care of when upon waking, she drifts off to a dreamless sleep.

\----

She wakes to the smell of burning.

Her eyes fly open and she sees the thick cloth of her tent illuminated with tongues of orange. Already, a haze of smoke is filling the small space. Outside, she registers the pounding of footsteps and shouting for more water to put out the flames.

Cries of _“Your Majesty!”_ ring from outside, and the sound of running approaches quickly. 

_Intruders? From where?_

Katarina bolts up – just as the canvas where her head was is sliced open by a blade. Mind still woozy from sleep, she stumbles forward, clutching the hilt of the dagger she keeps under her pillow. As she makes a move to get up, she feels herself being pinned to the floor from behind, and the blade of a sword sinks into the ground next to her face –

“You’re not going anywhere, Your Majesty.”

That voice – 

No, her priority is getting _out_.

Katarina struggles, but her hands won’t move. Just as she summons the focus to cast Wind, her assailant grunts and hits her at the side of the head. Katarina crumples to the floor, but now she sees the face of her attacker, nay, assassin.

The Pegasus knight with the clever eyes. 

“Wendel…?”

The head of the guard stares down at her with little emotion. If she had to name the one she saw, it would be that of vicious pride. “Lady Irene hated you, you know.”

The words feel like another blow to the head, and Wendel relishes in the horror that undoubtedly comes across Katarina’s face. 

“I will be sure to tell her how pitiful you looked quivering under my knife.” Katarina manages to lift her torso off the ground on her forearms, but her head is still swimming from the earlier blow, and the smoke makes it hard to breathe. She can hear the sound of the sword being freed from the dirt. Wendel raises it up for a final swing.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

A shadow flits over them, and Katarina’s eyes widen –

A hot splatter of blood lands on Katarina’s face from above. Above her, Wendel’s eyes bug out, and dark red gushes from her mouth in streams as her throat gargles with an unheard scream. A silver blade sticks out of her throat and slices lower, carving a scarlet trail between the ribs straight down to her abdomen. The amount of strength it takes to do that from the back with so little preamble, Katarina cannot fathom.

In an instant, Wendel’s body sags forward lifelessly, and Katarina can see the face of her savior – who isn’t even looking at her, but at the burning entrance of the tent.

“Fraldarius!”

He barely hesitates. With a shrug of his arm, the skewered body is flung onto the ground next to them, bleeding unceremoniously onto the edge of Katarina’s bedspread. 

He mutters a few syllables to himself, then his face twists into a grimace. The next instant, his gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash like the flames before them. “Can you walk?”

Can she? She tries to get herself onto her knees, but her mind is pounding with adrenaline and a tempest of emotion from the information that had just been forced onto her in the past few milliseconds. Disgusted with her sluggishness, the Duke grabs her hand and pulls her up. She blinks owlishly at the ground, and is suddenly very aware of the warm stickiness of blood still on her face. The red drips down her chin and onto the ground before them. Still, she struggles to put into perspective of what just happened here: The tent is ablaze, and Wendel… was right there, and then she wasn’t. And now she’s dead, and Irene… her sister sent her. And the Duke was here… is here. He whom she least wanted to see.

The Duke had… he hates…

“You saved… my life?” Katarina chokes out at last.

“What?” miraculously, he seems even more annoyed than before. “If you’re sentient, cast Blizzard. Isn’t magic your specialty?”

Right. Blizzard, the obvious choice. In seconds, the incantation is on her tongue, and the air in the tent seems to cool and contract to a pinpoint. The next instant, the center of the spell explodes violently outwards into torrents of cold wind and ice. The fire in the tent and in the vicinity are put out on the spot, and the cloth of the tent is blown to shreds from the inside out. 

Without the tent walls obscuring the view, Katarina understands why no one had arrived to her sooner: the entire guard was fighting with the forces from House Visca. The royal force was winning out, and quickly, but it would not have been fast enough.

“Ice magic!” someone cries.

“Her Majesty is safe!” another yells. This seems to boost the morale of the rest of the knights, and Katarina sees multiple members of the enemy go down at once. One or two get an eyeful of her and the Duke standing in the center of a circle of frozen ground with a tent reduced to scraps and immediately turn tail, fleeing to the surrounding woods.

The Duke does not hesitate. He looks her over once with those hawk-like eyes and rummages in his cloak (why is he still fully dressed?) and tosses her a vulnerary.

“The knights from von Visca were sent to stir chaos. They are not strong, and you should be able to handle them on your own. But they are surprisingly well-prepared so don’t get careless. It seems that you have enemies within your own household.” His tone is surprisingly matter-of-fact and not the least mocking. Nonetheless, a fresh wave of despair wells from the depths of her heart. She had known that her relationship with Irene had not been the best after her engagement to Dimitri, but she had not realized that it had manifested into something so senselessly _angry_. 

“Hey.”

The Duke’s voice snaps her back to attention. Her head swivels towards him, and already, he’s looking at the horizon, scanning the burning camp. 

“At the entrance, there are fires that still need to be put out, and several who are congregating there for healing as well.” His head jerks towards the knights who were fighting to get to her, a good number who are finally crowding over. “Take one of our own with you. I will chase the deserters.”

Before Katarina can object, he takes off, swift as the wind. She uncorks the vulnerary and chugs it, wiping away what trickles from her mouth on her sleeve. The sleeve comes away bloody. 

Her company unites with her soon enough.

“Your Majesty, thank the Goddess and the Heaven and Earth that you are safe!”

Another knight dips his head. “Truly, we are disgraces of knights. To be taken off guard by something like – “

She cuts him off. There is no room for this kind of talk. With her feet now solidly planted on the earth, and she lets authority fill her stance. “There’s no time to waste,” she says. “Let’s head to the entrance.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

\----

With the leader of the pack, Wendel, dead, the rest of the insurgency falls apart soon enough. Once at the entrance, Katarina uses her arsenal of magic to minimize damage there and uses her aptitude in healing to recover the injured. It’s a strategic position where she can have a solid overview of the camp while being useful outside of the main conflict. The Duke had advised her well after all.

Her hands are kept fairly busy, but she is still able to observe the fray. Katarina is by no means weak: though her main contribution during the War of Unity was far away from the front lines as a strategist, she had participated in her fair share of battles. She was invaluable at the ballistae, and she had the magical reserve to hold one down for hours, and even days on end if it was required of her. 

However, she thinks to herself as she sees the Duke flit to and fro across the smoldering campsite, white blade flashing and incapacitating foe and after foe. Reflexes like that could only be born on the front lines, and begrudgingly, seeing him in action for the first time, she has to respect his skill. He is a capable fighter, just as much as every story made him out to be. 

With her head substantially clearer and with a concrete task before her, Katarina pushes all her swelling emotions down – she could address them afterwards. Still, in the back of her mind, she cannot help but wonder, as she sees the flash of Fraldarius’ blade again and again, why he had decided to save her. Because surely, with her out of the way…

No matter. The fact is that she is alive now. They would have to capture Irene and restock their ruined supplies at the manor. Then, the journey would continue as planned.

\----

The battle is completely over by the time the smoke clears and the first rays of dawn touch the skies. As matters settle and the last of the rebels are bound, the story of last night begins to fall into place.

Not everyone in the von Visca company was informed of the plot, though the majority of the newly-knighted were. Upon further inspection, the origin of these hastily-recruited warriors were from territories with fraught relationships with the Crown. 

As suspected, the goal of the plot was to assassinate the Queen. The plan had been to stir chaos with the fires and kill her amidst the excitement, though this had obviously been ruined when some of the royal entourage catching wind of the plan shortly after the fires started. They had tried to reach Katarina, but were obstructed by Irene’s forces. 

Katarina listens, eyes dulling as she takes in the words detailing the betrayal. She can barely summon the energy to sit straight. The mastermind behind it all was of course, Irene von Visca herself. They had wrung the information out of one of the servants who had been seen setting the first fires. Irene, apparently, had been so consumed by jealousy and rage towards her adoptive sister for taking her “rightful place” as the King’s wife that he had denounced Katarina as her sibling. She had wanted to travel to the capital to express her ire in person, but their parents had only just managed to restrain her, and the news of Irene’s change of heart never reached Katarina’s ears. And thus, this plot was formed. Whether or not it was executed with the knowledge of their parents remains unknown.

After the messenger leaves, Katarina slumps forward in her chair. This was all so… idiotic. Even if Irene had succeeded, she would not have anything left. There would have been no doubt who the perpetrator was, and then she would have been imprisoned at best, with any semblance of a future stripped away from her. There’s no way that she hadn’t thought of this, and yet…

She had resented Katarina so much that she simply didn’t care. She hated her so much that she felt that she had nothing to lose. 

Katarina allows herself to let out a shaky sigh. She knew that her and Irene’s sibling relationship had not been typical, as she had been raised to be Irene’s loyal subordinate, but she had no doubt that she had loved Irene, maybe even still. Maybe that’s why her act of violent betrayal caused her so much pain. 

Shielded from the outside in a makeshift tent, Katarina leans her forehead into her hand and lets the tears fall. Here, in a moment of darkness with guards outside and people passing by the tent without a second thought, she takes the moment to stop being the Queen and grieve.

\----

Naturally, the royal company leaves the campsite far later than scheduled, now with a large number of prisoners in tow. Once again, Katarina finds herself sharing a coach with Duke Fraldarius, but the silence is of a very different nature this time. It’s as if their roles have been switched, with the Duke looking out the window wearing his signature scowl while Katarina faces forward, hands balled into fists atop her lap.

She wasn’t able to sleep at all last night, not in the least because she had been busy aiding the wounded. Even if she had been reallocated to a new place free of noise, she doesn’t think she’d be able to sleep, with the death of Melody Wendel, and the few seconds where Katarina thought she would meet her end playing behind her eyelids over and over in a torturous cycle.

For a moment, she forgets that she’s sharing the space with a man that she’s supposed to hate. A hitched sob makes it past her defenses, but the Duke does not so much as turn to acknowledge her weakness. Maybe he had not heard, but if he had, she is grateful for the lack of reaction.

She remembers the instant when she saw his face behind the corpse. The way he had tossed the body aside with all the care someone would treat a sack of flour. If it weren’t for him, she would be dead. And whether he would admit it or not, he would have benefited from her demise. She is positive that she is the only barrier between him and Dimitri, whom he still hasn’t forgotten about somehow, after so many years. This is _her_ marriage, rightfully earned and greatly cherished by her and Dimitri both, but somewhere deep down, she knows that Dimitri holds love for the Duke as well. 

“You could have let me die, you know,” she rasps, hands bunching the cloth of her dress. She lets her spite, her sadness, and her rage seep into her voice. “What’s the plan, Fraldarius? Was saving my life your way of making me owe you a favor? Put me in your debt forever?” There is no doubt that he wouldn’t want something for this. There must be a reason why no one was talking about how the Great Lord Fraldarius had saved the Queen’s head!

The Duke finally turns around, but still doesn’t give her eye contact – stupid _bastard_. He opens his mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, but Katarina snaps at him. “You will look me in the eye when you speak.”

He furrows his brows and complies, sitting straighter now than before. Amber meets green. “There is no plan. I am doing my job as the King’s Shield.”

“But I am not the King.”

“’King’ is meant symbolically. You know that,” his eyes narrow, irritation creeping into his expression. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“I’m not!” Katarina says hotly. For some reason, she’s fighting tears again. “I just don’t understand.”

“Easy: you were in danger, I cut the assailant’s head off, the end. I don’t see what’s so complicated about that. You’re a smart woman.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps. She would stand up if the ceiling weren’t so low. “You – you hate me. My death is the best thing that could happen to you.”

At last, there’s a satisfying break in the Duke’s composure. “ _What?_ ”

She relishes in the way that his expression opens with shock. “You hate me,” she repeats, “Because I’m in your way. Because I’m the only one keeping you from the King, Dimitri.”

Katarina watches as the Duke’s face twists with even more surprise and confoundment as words continue to spill from her mouth. _Letting her die had never once crossed his mind_ , she realizes. But she can’t stop, because if she’s wrong…

She takes in another breath and further raises her voice. “I’ve seen how you look at him. You’ve stuck to your end of the deal, yes, but even after all these years –”

The Duke has had enough. He hisses and quick as a viper striking its prey, his hand clamps her hard on the shoulder. “Not so loud,” he grinds out. 

This gets Katarina to stop. Bereft of anger, she leans back into her seat, and a sob escapes her shaking frame. She had been completely unreasonable just now, and even if she and the Duke are at odds, he does not deserve a false accusation.

Pacified by her silence, the Duke lets go and leans back on the opposing bench where he is seated and gives her a good, hard look, as if daring her to weep. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

This time, he’s the one who breaks the silence. “To be clear. I will never like you, but I do not hate you. Or at least, I haven’t… not in a very long time.” To her shock, he offers her something that approximates a wry smile. She doesn’t know how to feel about that – disgust, maybe.

His gaze shifts away, returning to the window and the plains of grass passing them by. “If anything, I should apologize. I should have pushed harder to uncover the plot.”

Katarina makes sure she can trust her voice not to shake when she finally speaks. “No, you were right.” Thinking back, all the signs were there: the absence of her trusted personnel, that they were all armed to the teeth... “It’s my fault for being so blind.”

“I hardly predicted anything – I had only known that something was off. The King calls it my ‘special sense’. Ha, what a load of bunk.” He glances back at Katarina’s face for a second, then looks back out the window. Maybe Katarina only imagines it, but she thinks she sees his posture soften a fraction. 

He speaks again, more carefully and softly than before, “It’s common among nobility for your cousins or extended family to backstab you, sure, but it’s more rare to see that among direct siblings, and from what I heard, you and von Visca were close. No one would have predicted it.”

Great, now Katarina wants to cry again, and to her horror, it isn’t because she’s angry at the Duke. Somehow, strangely, curiously, she’s feeling… relieved. She covers her mouth with a hand, and does her best to hold it in. She will not cry in front of her sworn enemy.

The Duke is still looking towards the outdoors, expression neutral as if Katarina isn’t breaking down in front of him. The silence is for once, unbearable, and as if detecting this, the Duke speaks again. “I lost my mother when I was young. To disease, an infection from the battlefield.”

It is not like the Duke to give out personal information unbidden, even if this is something Katarina already knows. She had simply never thought about it, or what the fact could have meant to the Duke because. Well, she didn’t think he had a heart. Unsure of where this is going, she can only give a suspicious nod.

He resumes his speech. “The battle was so minor, so inconsequential, but a death is a death, and one day, my father had to tell my brother and I that she was simply gone. I couldn’t grasp death, then, but my brother had a better idea. So when he cried, I did, too. It took months and months for things to feel normal again.” 

Captivated, Katarina listens without interrupting. Meanwhile, the Duke shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I don’t know where this is going,” he mutters. But he pushes onward. “The point is: you have a daughter. When my mother died, all of us, the three of us eventually recovered. There’s a Faerghan saying that says the suffering makes you stronger, the more potent the better, but I disagree. None of that made us any better off than before. There was always a weight on the old man after her passing, and my brother hardened in a way than he never had before. He trained relentlessly to the point of breaking for months after the incident. In hindsight, he was probably afraid of losing someone on the battlefield ever again.”

For the first time during their countless hours stuck in the coach, the Duke – Felix, allows himself to relax against the window pane. His eyes flutter shut, but his voice is still surprisingly even. “So if I ever had the choice, to let you die or not, I would never let you die – not if I can help it. I… I would never make a choice that would inflict that kind of suffering on someone else.” 

_He doesn’t just mean Dimitri_ , she realizes, _but Eustace as well._ Something in her seizes up again. 

Then Felix’s eyes snap back open, as if suddenly remembering something. His fingers slip under his jacket, searching for something. “Here, I believe this belongs to you.” In between his fingers is a slim sheet of paper: Eustace’s note.

Hands trembling, she takes it from him. She had thought she had lost it for good – it had been gone when she had remembered to go back and retrieve it. She had assumed it had been burned away in the chaos. The edges of the paper are a little tattered and charred, and there are small flecks of blood across the surface, but Eustace’s shaky handwriting is still there and perfectly legible.

That does it for her. Clutching the note to her chest, Katarina is powerless to stop the big, translucent droplets from sliding down her cheeks. As before, Felix looks out into the distance.

He lets her cry in peace.

\----

The journey carries on in spite of the complications. In the meantime, Katarina has received endless concerned correspondences from Dimitri – of course he would worry after a trial on her life, as if he hadn’t survived a number of assassination attempts himself. He orders a fortified guard to be present around her at all times, though she doesn’t feel that this was necessary. That aside, she had also managed to receive doodles and more notes from Eustace as well, alongside an abundance of work-related messages.

The Duke had received correspondences from the King as well, but strictly of the professional sort. Some nights, Katarina would accidentally catch him slaving away alone by the light of the campfire, penning solutions for problems Dimitri was facing miles away in Fhirdiad.

Days and weeks later, they finally arrive at Enbarr, and the streets are lined with cheering civilians. They are received by familiar faces once they depart from the carriages. Katarina is greatly relieved when she greets the political leaders of the former Empire at the end of the red carpet. As usual, the Duke’s face remains impassive and strategically irritated as he descends from the coach and onto the carpeted walk. He walks on her right, close behind her, and the nation bows at her feet.

Once inside the walls of the castle and away from the eyes of the public, everyone greets each other with joy, wrapping each other in warm embraces and kisses on the cheek. A short, orange-haired girl – Annette from Dominic, Katarina recalls – is the first to approach the Duke, running up to him at an alarming pace. She nearly tackles him to the ground with a hug, and to Katarina’s great surprise, he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. She is certain that no one else would dare greet him as Annette did just now, but after that, Fraldarius is more openly acknowledged by the party. He is in turn greeted with small, knowing smiles with which he returns with curt nods and brief statements, none of them harsh.

The royal entourage remains in the city for five days, and on the day of the signings, there is a great feast and boisterous merriment. But after weeks and weeks of being away from the capital, Katarina is eager to return home. Home to Dimitri, home to Eustace, home to where she can govern more directly, with her most trusted advisors and scholars at hand.

On the way back, she and the Duke continue to share a carriage. Even after the incident, they do not speak much, but Katarina feels that the air flows more easily between them now. Presently, Katarina is flipping through her gifts from Eustace, and she brightens at the amateur drawings accompanying some of the more recent notes. The Duke, as always, sits across from her, and face is set with concentration as his eyes skim the documents before him. Katarina recognizes the handwriting to be that of Dimitri’s.

So engrossed in work as he is, Katarina can’t help but watch him from the corner of her eye. Previously, they had never had the chance to work together because they were always so at odds, and she finds the intensity of his focus fascinating. He flips through the pages using some internal logic, one after another, ticking off places he finds important with a flick of his quill. When he reaches the last page, however, Katarina notices that his gaze lingers on the last few sentences, and then hover near the bottom. He bites his lip in a motion that must be subconscious, and she detects the sound of his thumb brushing the letter’s surface.

He is tracing over Dimitri’s signature, she realizes.

For a moment, Katarina thinks she should feel angry – but she doesn’t. Can’t. There is something in that motion, the way his face turns wistful the moment he gazes upon the name, hastily scribbled in ink. Gentle, as if by seeing Dimitri’s signature alone, he can see the man himself, and the thought sends a pang of pity through Katarina’s chest.

It’s pathetic, she realizes, how far this man would go for him. For Dimitri, whom he has no hope of pursuing.

The quiet stretches onwards, and there’s nothing but the bump and grind of wooden wheels over gravel between them. So Katarina says. “Have you ever thought of letting him go?”

Felix doesn’t answer, but he does lower the page. His face is without ire as he looks down at his knees, which are folded at a lax angle over the bench and end with his feet on the wooden floor.

Katarina makes another attempt. “There’s a whole world out there. Surely…” She trails off. Perhaps it isn’t in her right to say this.

The Duke, being who he is, does what he does whenever he’s not staring a hole in the wall or looking at business letters. Silently, he props his head up with a hand and stares out the window. His other hand tightens into a fist, but the paper below it remains undisturbed.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Katarina understands. 

In two and a half weeks, they will be back in Fhirdiad. She will return to her duties as Queen, and Felix will return to his duties as the King’s right hand. In the evening, he will retire to his chambers, and she will kiss Eustace good night before going to bed with Dimitri. And that will be that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the next chapter for some fluff. Thank you for making it this far!! I really and truly appreciate it. <3


	3. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more years into the future.
> 
> A short and sweet bonus. Enjoy!

“Uncle Felix!”

Katarina whips her head around to see the Duke and Eustace in the middle of the bustling courtyard. Eustace has a training sword in hand and is beaming up at him. Katarina hears, “Hush, it’s ‘Duke Fraldarius’.”

“Sorry, I got too excited,” Eustace replies, looking only the slightest bit sheepish at her mistake.

“What do you want?” His tone is stringent, but he can’t hide the bemused smile spreading across his lips.

“I want you to show me your sword forms again. And the trick where you cut fruit in the air. Please?”

“Have you finished your lance training for today? You’re going to inherit Areadbhar someday, you know.”

“Feeeeelix.”

“… I suppose satisfying your curiosity a little won’t hurt. Watch carefully.”

Eustace cheers when the Duke takes the training sword from her hands. She smiles even wider, leaning into his touch when he ruffles her hair.

There is some part of Katarina that wants to intervene, but she supposes it makes sense for them to be close. Fraldarius is one of her key instructors for learning about statecraft and combat. “Uncle” may be crossing the line, however.

It’s only when she’s sitting at her desk with a cup of tea that Katarina realizes that this might have been the first time she has seen the Duke smile so openly. And as much as she hates to admit it, maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Secretly, she notes to herself to write another note to the girl from Dominic; it is about time she’s paid the castle another visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that caps this journey. It definitely developed into something more than I could have expected at the outset, but I had a lot of fun writing all 16k+ words of this. 
> 
> I understand that the Felix & OC interactions in the latter parts might have caught most of you off-guard, but for those of you who made it to the end, you have my deepest gratitude. Thank you so much for taking your time to read this fic. 
> 
> xoxo Second

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on this website. I hope you enjoyed it! Special thanks to [androgenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius) and friends who helped me review this fic and encouraged me along the way. <3  
> This was supposed to be short, 1-2k non-committal project, but as it turns out, a lot more words were needed to express the full idea well. The spark that lit this fire was actually a _very_ wholesome tweet/hc . For the better or worse, this work took a very different direction from the initial inspiration.  
> I hope to write more in the future. Please be gentle with me, and thank you again for reading this far.  
> [EDIT]: As of June 7, 2020, I have extended this work to include two more chapters. I have also lightly edited the wording of the original chapter. Thank you!


End file.
